


Bruised Knuckles Brought Me Here

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Bodyguard AU, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:49:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3710359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gavin’s a hacker, not a fighter. Unfortunately he has a penchant for starting bar brawls he can’t finish, and his lack of combat skills makes him an easy target to get at Geoff. Solution? Get him a personal bodyguard.</p><p>Michael joined the Fake AH Crew for the money, the fame, the madcap heists. Ending up as a glorified babysitter wasn’t part of the plan, but it’s a means to an end, right? Take care of Gavin for a few weeks, prove himself to Ramsey, and move up in the crew. Simple as that.</p><p>(GTA/Bodyguard AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruised Knuckles Brought Me Here

**Author's Note:**

> **PROMPT: “I love how in all the lets plays Gavin tends to start shit then immediately back off and hide behind the wrath of Mogar, so I was sort of wondering if you might possibly consider some kind of Bodyguard AU with Gavin and his long suffering but totally loyal bodyguard Michael”**
> 
>  
> 
> t/w: one minor incident of harrassment

**1.**

This is where Michael Jones’ life has fucking brought him. 

Leaning against the wall in a dark dank alley stinking of refuse, a fucking _knife_ buried hilt-deep in his shoulder, blood running in sticky trails down his arm.

Gavin’s next to him, pressed in close against his side. Michael’s good arm is hooked around his head, hand clapped firmly over his mouth to stop him making a sound. He knows Gavin won’t but right now he doesn’t trust him with fucking anything because it really is his damn fault that they’re in this mess, hiding in some dead-end street filled with garbage skips while a bunch of thugs with guns hunt them down. 

Gavin whimpers behind his hand and Michael lets up a bit, making sure he can breathe okay. He glances down and Gavin meets his gaze. Eyes wide and scared and apologetic under it all. Which good, fucking good, this is absolutely all his doing. It’s easy to be angry now when Michael is scared as well. 

If Gavin hadn’t tried to make some sort of petty statement by hitting on that guy back at the pub, letting himself get felt up just to piss Michael off, they wouldn’t be in this fix right now-

(Or maybe if they’d just _talked_ about things, after that one awkward night back at the bar, instead of letting things fester and go to shit-)

There’s a thud from somewhere in the dark streets nearby, a babble of raised voices. Michael peeks around the edge of the alleyway and jumps when a car speeds past.

“Michael,” Gavin whispers, voice catching in his throat. “Are they out there-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael hisses back. Gavin’s mouth snaps shut. Michael listens hard, but he can’t see the men and he can’t hear them either and his apartment is only two blocks away - they can make it if they’re quick and careful.

He checks the street again and then turns and ushers Gavin out in front of him, grabbing his hand and  pulling him down the road-

“Go, go, go-!”

**2.**

So Michael absolutely did not sign up for this.

When he heard Geoff Ramsey was hiring he leaped at the opportunity. Become part of the Fake AH Crew, the biggest gang in Achievement City - notorious for their heists that not only pull wicked amounts of money but involve the most absurd schemes, plans that defy belief, that have the police scratching their heads and the rest of the criminal underworld laughing their asses off - fuck yeah he wants in.

Thing is, he thought he was gonna be some sort of crew muscle. He has the expertise; he’s a quick thinker in a fix, he’s loyal to a fault and good with a gun.

Instead he somehow wound up here. Glorified babysitter to Ramsey’s brat.

“A what,” he asks, when - upon successfully passing some sort of very strange job interview that involved a series of questions ranging from his past experience to whether he’d rather suck a random dick or take one up the ass - he appears to have been hired, only for Geoff to give him his first assignment immediately.

“A bodyguard,” Geoff repeats cheerfully, and points through the window of his office to where the messy-haired young man is sitting hunched over a laptop, fingers working busily away at the keys.

Michael knows who Gavin Free is; part of the Fake AH Crew’s notoriety comes from the sheer level of information they have, courtesy of their imported hacker.

 “There’ve been a couple of incidents,” Geoff continues. “Gav’s good with a computer. Not so good in a fight. People want to get to me, they tend to try and do it through him. So in the interest of, you know, not having to go on a rescue mission every other week, I’m putting you on guard duty for now.”

Michael opens his mouth to protest that _bodyguard_ is really, really not the fucking job he applied for. But you don’t argue with Geoff Ramsey and besides, how bad can it be - keep an eye on the guy for a few weeks, prove his worth, and then get moved up to something more exciting. 

Besides, Free looks like a total nerd, he’ll probably spend all day in front of a computer anyway. And when they’re first introduced, when he stares up at Michael from under his mess of spiky hair and gives a smile that looks more shy than anything else, and utters the first of those damnable “Hi Michael”s that Michael will become far too attuned to listening out for-

There’s no way this scrawny, gawkish guy can get himself into too much trouble, right?

Wrong.

**3.**

Like many bad decisions and things that go wrong in the world, the cause of Michael’s grief over the course of the next few months can be boiled down to one thing.

Booze.

Dear God. Gavin’s shyness around Michael lasts about two days before they get to know each other. And then when it wears off, it wears off _hard_.

 _Sit in front of a computer all day_ , ha ha ha, if only Michael was so fucking lucky. When Gavin isn’t running around poking his nose into the rest of the crew’s business he’s going on joyrides with Ryan, knocking motorcyclists off their bikes, or his favourite evening pastime:

Pubcrawling.

It’s the pubcrawling that’s the fucking problem.

Because, you see, Michael gets to know Gavin pretty quickly. He’s a bit awkward at first. Fools around but still has an odd carefulness around people he hasn’t known all that long; he thinks about what he does and says. Michael’s seen him around Geoff who he’s known for years, and he’s infinitely more rambunctious around him than he is around Michael when they first meet.

But all barriers wear off when he’s drunk. Jesus Christ. Drunk Gavin loses all boundaries; he’s overly tactile, he’ll _ramble_ loudly about anything and everything - Michael hears the fucking greenhouse joke about twenty times within the first week.

He’ll start fights. Just deliberately wind people up, set them against each other, and then step back and watch the damage.

It’s all Ryan and Geoff’s fault, Michael’s certain of it. He’s seen them all around each other and they are really bad fucking influences. Ryan will mess with people just to indulge Gavin, and Geoff for all his fearsome reputation is really nothing but a giant _troll_ , and Gavin, the brat, has gotten used to people causing trouble for nothing but his entertainment while he, of course, fragile Gavin, dear helpless Gavin ‘no-combat’ Free who now _has his own personal fucking bodyguard_ doesn’t have to do a thing but sit back and watch while Michael cleans up his mess.

Seriously.

Drunk Gavin is a prick. Drunk Gavin is a menace. Drunk Gavin is a fucking _hazard to society_ -

Drunk Gavin is unfortunately good at convincing Michael to do things.

(And the thing is, maybe, maybe Michael finds it a bit funny too, because watching the idiot trip all over his own feet is pretty damn amusing and he’s just. _Fun_ to hang around, even when he isn’t bevved up, and maybe there’s something endearing in the way when he cracks up he pretty much stops laughing and just starts _squeaking_ instead-)

“I bet you can’t drink this whole bottle of barbecue sauce, Michael,” quickly turns into “I bet you can’t beat that biker at an arm wrestle, Michael,” turns into-

“Do you think you could take all those guys in a fight, Michael?”

Gavin’s eyes shining, a little glazed from drink but that damnable _grin_ on his face. He’s always relaxed as fuck but with a gut full of piss he loosens up even further. Slack-jawed grin and one arm draped loose and easy over Michael’s shoulders, a warm point of contact he is suddenly too-aware of.

“No,” Michael replies immediately, and turns and points a finger sternly at his chest. “Not fucking happening, Gavin.”

“But Michael. I bet you could beat them all up.”

“I’m not getting in a fight with six giant guys tonight for _no fucking reason_. You’ve had enough,” he adds, taking Gavin’s glass from him quickly.

“You’re no bloody fun.”

“I’m plenty of ‘bloody’ fun,” Michael huffs indignantly, and totally doesn’t look over at the six thick-necked buff guys crowded rowdily around the pool table. He could absolutely take them. If he wanted to.

Not that he wants to, because contrary to popular belief he does actually have some sense of self-preservation when it comes to Gavin’s stupid bets.

Gavin who is now looking at Michael with that stupid smug grin that always makes Michael want to wipe it off his face by any means necessary-

Gavin who’s leaning in too close now, pressing a reclaimed glass of liquor into Michael’s hand.

“Come on, have a drink, Michael.”

“Nuh uh.” They’ve been down this road before; Gavin is far too good at making him forget when he’s meant to be professionally on-the-clock. “I’m minding you.”

“Come on, I’ve seen you, you’re still a good shot while bevved.”

“I’d rather not be shooting _anything_ right now if I can help it.”

“Now that’s not the Fake AH Crew attitude.”

“It is when I’ve been working all day and now I’m stuck babysitting your ass.”

“Are you bored, Michael? Work can be fun. Just one drink.”

Gavin, so close Michael can practically feel his breath warm against his ear. Gavin, his fingers brushing ever-so-slightly against Michael’s where he’s handing him the glass.

Gavin, hovering at his side coaxing him along like a little devil on his shoulder that smells of vodka and hairspray. And maybe Michael has always been a bit too inclined to listen to those devils; he didn’t exactly end up in this line of work by following his _conscience_ , after all. 

His hesitation lasts a second longer. Then he lets out a rush of breath. Thinks _fuck it_. Let it go. Downs the glass.

Gavin’s laugh is high and delighted and Michael can’t help his grin as the other man reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, hand lingering for a moment before he pulls away.

One shot, two shots, three and things settle into a happy daze.

Gavin is laughing beside him and Michael is laughing too, but even buzzing he’s hyper-aware of where Gavin is, that he’s meant to be looking out for him, and when the other man disappears from his side, he notices.

“Gav?” He sits up, looking around, and spies him immediately by the pool table. Michael groans as realisation hits him; of course they aren’t just going to have a nice night out peacefully drinking. That wouldn’t be Gavin’s way at all.

“Motherfucker…” Michael’s already standing up, striding over, even as whatever Gavin is saying to the leader of the blockhead-committee makes his face cloud over. The guy reaches out and shoves Gavin hard in the chest, making him stumble back a pace, and some instinctive anger rises up hot in Michael’s best, fuelled by the drink, an overwhelming urge to _protect_.

Gavin turns and sees him and gives the most _shit-eating_ grin, the fucker, even as Michael moves forward and drags him behind him.

The men’s eyes turn to him instead, curious at the newcomer but no less angry. They’re fairly drunk themselves, obviously raring for a fight, and _here we go_ Michael thinks, because maybe he is too-

(And like Gavin said, that’s just the Fake AH Crew attitude, isn’t it, stirring up trouble for laughs, causing chaos wherever they go, revelling in the thrill of a fight-)

“You looking for trouble?” the man demands, words slurring a little.

“Yes!” Gavin chirps, popping up over Michael’s shoulder.

Michael shoots him a glare, more out of habit than anything else.

The man leers and grabs up a pool cue-

Michael’s fist meets his face-

All hell breaks loose. Gavin sits back and laughs.

**4.**

Things Michael’s Learned After 1 Week Of Minding Gavin Free: That he’s good at his job. That he spends a hell of a lot of time doing things that are distinctly _not_ his job _._ That he has zero fucking sense of self preservation.

(“There was absolutely no reason for us to go along with Ray on that hit.”

“It was exciting, Michael, a lad needs some excitement in his life.”

“So go to fucking Six Flags! Don’t take your untrained ass into a gunfight!”

“I really liked how you tackled me out of the way of that bullet, Michael.”

“I hate you.”

“It was like _Get Down Mr. President_.”

“I see now exactly why Geoff had to hire me.”)

.

Things Michael’s Learned After 2 Weeks Of Minding Gavin Free: That he likes to drink. That when drunk he’s an unstoppable force of calamity. That for someone who can’t throw a punch to save his life he starts entirely too many barfights.

(“Why the fuck would you even do that?” 

The first time. Michael’s bleeding - pretty sure his nose is broken - he was caught off guard by Gavin, who was by the bar getting a drink one second, and the next in the middle of a sea of flying fists and smashing glasses, having started a brawl that he then expected Michael to finish.

“It was fun, wannit?” Gavin is bleeding too - collateral damage - but still grinning dopily and letting out the most fucking annoying _giggles_.

Michael wipes his nose and glares at him.

“At least have the decency to get yourself out of there next time.” Despite his annoyance his hand still somehow refuses to be anything but gentle as he reaches out and inspects the shallow gash on Gavin’s head where broken glass caught him. “When you bleed it comes out of my paycheck.”

“Aw, is that all I am to you Michael, your paycheck?”

“You’re an asshole is what you are.”

Except the rest of the walk home Gavin raves about how Michael took three guys down, broke a beer bottle over the head of the fourth, and maybe deep inside there’s some smug satisfaction at it and the way Gavin - tipsy as hell and rambling - can’t stop cooing over it, _strong Michael, Super Michael, lovely Michael_ -)

.

Things Michael’s Learned After 4 Weeks Of Minding Gavin Free: That he’s one of the biggest pieces of shit Michael has ever met. That somehow all the rest of the crew adore him anyway. That he himself is maybe starting to get won over as well.

(“Ryan’s not scary when you get to know him.”

A fucking lie, Michael thinks; he’s heard the stories about Vagabond. Even after being hired into the crew he hasn’t had much cause to interact with the man. Ray is good, Ray is _great_ , they get on like a house on fire and Michael hopes to work with him once he starts making his way up in the crew. Geoff likes him, he thinks. And Jack is lovely. But Ryan is… hard to figure out, and it seems Gavin has noticed his hesitation.

“I’m not scared of him,” he replies, because he isn’t, he’s wary more than anything else. But Gavin looks at him speculatively and the next day he follows Ryan out on one of his jobs - forcing Michael to come along too, to sit in the backseat playing third wheel while Gavin rides shotgun and asks Ryan a series of increasingly convoluted and senseless rhetorical questions. It’s funny to watch them - how Ryan gives them actual thought, how they get playfully frustrated at one another, how there’s an odd fondness undercutting it all, so uncharacteristic to what Michael expected of the masked man.

He laughs along with them and it isn’t long until he’s piping up too - mostly to make fun of Gavin - and when they arrive he catches Gavin grinning between the two of them and can’t help but shake his head, smiling as he realises the other’s scheme - feeling oddly grateful to him for making the effort to integrate him into the rest of the crew - and when Ryan catches his eye later on and gives him a knowing sort of nod Michael suddenly feels much less overwhelmed by it all, a stress about joining this new gang that he’d barely even realised was there until suddenly it’s gone.)

.

Things Michael’s Learned After 6 Weeks Of Minding Gavin Free: That he actually does work hard. When the crew is coming up on heists there’s a lot to get done. And when deadlines are close that means hours and all-nighters for Gavin back at the base.

(“Dude, you need to sleep.”

Gavin glances up at him, wincing a bit as his eyes adjust after staring so long at a screen.

“You don’t have to be here,” he begins, but all Michael can see suddenly are the bags under his eyes and the hunched slump of his shoulders. “‘m not gonna be leaving the base for a couple days. There’s security here. You should take some time off.”

“If I’m tasked with your ‘physical wellbeing’ or what fucking ever I should probably stick around to make sure you don’t pass out over your keyboard,” Michael replies wryly, setting the mug of tea he’d brought down on the table next to him.

Gavin stares at the steaming cup and then up at Michael with something almost like confusion. He’s quieter when he’s tired and Michael wonders suddenly when he started to notice that. Or when he learned how Gavin takes his tea. Or started recognising from the way he’d been sitting, drumming his fingers against the edge of the desk, that he was starting to get stuck in his own head a little from too long sitting here working on his own.

He leans in. “So tell me what exactly you’re doing.”

Gavin stares at him, then starts to explain. Slowly at first, then gaining confidence. Michael doesn’t understand the half of what he’s talking about, but finds himself suddenly transfixed by the lilting rise and fall of his voice, the quiet movement of his lips. 

He doesn’t come back to himself until he realises Gavin’s fallen silent and is staring at him. Then he sits up a bit, suddenly flustered.

“You don’t have to stay,” Gavin says softly, looking at him too intently.

Michael swallows a few times.

“Got nothing better to do,” he manages to force out, even if he doesn’t quite know why, exactly, the thought of going home and leaving Gavin here alone suddenly doesn’t sit easy with him. And he sees Gavin’s lips twitch, a little, into something almost like a smile, before he turns and takes a sip of his tea and yelps when he burns his tongue; Michael laughs at him and Gavin pouts and gets back to work with a little more of a spring in his step - or, well, his fingers on the keyboard - and Michael sits back and watches him and can’t quite help his own smile.)

.

Things Michael’s Learned After 8 Weeks Of Minding Gavin Free: That it turns out he is in genuine danger quite often, hence Geoff’s concern. That he might be reckless but he does get scared. 

That he really doesn’t like seeing Gavin scared.

(“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Michael’s bleeding again but he barely even notices, all focus on Gavin-

Gavin who’d been grabbed from right next to him on the street, literally the second Michael turned his back. Half-dragged into a car with a gun to his head before Michael could react.

Two big guys, masked, enemies of Geoff’s. Michael killed them both but a bullet scraped his shoulder. It’s bleeding like hell but all he can see is the dark swollen bruise around Gavin’s eye, the skin broken and bloody in places, where the goon smashed the butt of his gun into his face. How he’s breathing too fast and his hands are shaking where he clings to the front of Michael’s jacket.

Michael knows that fear of having a gun’s barrel pressed to your skull, that white-blank terror of brushing far too close to death.

Gavin reaches out and touches his shoulder - Michael flinches - his hand draws back sticky with blood and he stares at it, almost stunned despite the fact that he’s seen all of them injured a hundred times before.

“Thank you,” he chokes out - fingers flexing in the material of Michael’s jacket.

“It’s my job,” Michael replies automatically, except right now it feels like a hell of a lot more than that and he pulls Gavin close, arms folding around him protectively, the dull ache in his shoulder throbbing to the ceaseless pounding of his heart-)

.

Things Michael’s Learned After 10 Weeks Of Minding Gavin Free: 

(The way his eyes look green from afar but up close they’re blue with bits of brown around the middle. He doesn’t remember why he got close enough to notice that. How fast he can type and the way his long clever fingers look flying over the computer keys or wrapped loosely around the neck of a beer bottle-

_(or around Michael’s wrist when they’re walking down a dark street at night and they totally weren’t holding hands that one time, or if they were it was for safety, okay, because Drunk Gavin can be unpredictable and Michael likes to make sure he won’t wander off, like a Goddamn kindergarten teacher or something-)_

How he drops his t’s in the middle of words and starts lisping a bit when he’s tipsy. The lithe line of his body when he’s swimming or lounging on a deck chair - and swimmy bevs quickly become a thing; there’s a pool at Michael’s apartment and he fast makes friends with other employees of Geoff’s and invites them along, it’s nice to not be alone -

The way the water looks clinging glistening to his skin. How his body feels in Michael’s arms when they’re wrestling, all sharp bones and planes and angles, how easily Michael can fit a hand around his wrist when he’s trying to teach him to throw a punch, how he never really minds when Gavin jumps on him and knocks the wind out of him and sits straddling him, pinning him down - knowing full well Michael could flip them over if he wanted, but he doesn’t, even as Gavin crows at coming out on top and Michael just lies there, Gavin’s weight settled easily over his thighs, one hand warm in the middle of his chest, watching the way his eyes crinkle as he laughs-)

The little things.

**5.**

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Michael throws over his shoulder as he ducks a swipe from another muscle-bound beefcake that Gavin thought it would be a great idea to start shit with.

“Nope,” Gavin calls back. He’s sitting by the bar eating _pretzels_ , the dick, and Michael shoots him a dirty look before turning and kneeing the guy he’s fighting in the balls.

He drops like a stone, and it’s a dirty trick but the Fake AH Crew doesn’t exactly play fair and it makes Gavin laugh-

A laugh that breaks off into a squawk when one of the guy’s friends comes up behind him and grabs his arm suddenly, throwing him off his stool. Pretzels fly everywhere and Michael spins around, alarmed. The guy’s looming over Gavin, fist drawn and ready to punch, Gavin flinching back where he’s sprawled on the floor too stunned to move.

Michael doesn’t think, he acts, throwing himself forward. He intends to tackle the guy but he _steps in the fucking fallen pretzel bowl_ and his foot slips out from under him. For a moment all he can do is flail, practically windmilling his arms in a futile attempt to regain his balance. 

He quite literally hits the guy’s fist with his face.

**6.**

“That was all your fucking fault,” Michael says.

Gavin’s apartment was closest. Somehow it’s been over two months and he’s never been there before; he’s walked Gavin to the door but never been invited in. Usually Gavin crashes at his place; it’s closer to work. He can’t exactly appreciate the novelty of it when his eye feels like it’s going to explode.

Gavin’s rummaging in the fridge.

“Cold meat,” he says, pointedly ignoring Michael’s remark. “That’s what you put on a black eye, right? Like a raw steak or something?”

“You just had to start that fight.” Michael shakes his head, huffing.

He’s had worse, of course he has. It’s the humiliation of it that’s getting to him. Gavin was laughing at him the entire walk over here and something about that has him hot and embarrassed all of a sudden.

“I only have salami,” Gavin muses, pulling a package wrapped in deli paper from his fridge and tilting his head at it. “That’s a cold meat, right?”

“You’re not putting fucking salami on my eye,” Michael snaps. “Just get me a beer.”

Gavin pulls a bottle from the fridge and hands it to Michael; he presses it to his throbbing eye with a sigh of relief. 

“Does it hurt a lot?” Gavin asks quietly, after a second.

Michael cracks open his good eye and squints at him. Some odd bravado rising up in his chest, a need to maintain a little dignity. He isn’t sure why, suddenly, since Gavin’s seen him eat shit to fantastic levels before (usually while drunk; dancing on the slippery poolside was not a good idea but his bevved up ass didn’t think of that until it was too late).

“I’ve had worse,” he replies, and Gavin looks away. He seems genuinely regretful for once, which is strange enough that Michael sobers up a little.

“You got that to stop him hitting me,” Gavin begins, and Michael flaps a hand, waving it off.

“Dude. It’s kind of my job to stop people hitting you. I’m sure Geoff will compensate me.”

Gavin smiles a bit, but there’s no humour in it. Michael feels uncomfortable suddenly, and takes the chance to turn and look around the apartment. It’s a lot neater than he expected given the mess that is Gavin’s workspace back at the base. Oddly, clinically bare. Like Gavin doesn’t spend all that much time here. He supposes he doesn’t; when he’s not working he’s usually over at Geoff’s - or, recently, crashing at Michael’s. It makes it easier to keep an eye on him.

Fingers on his face make him flinch and he turns to find Gavin pulling the bottle from his eye to inspect the damage.

“Bet you’ll pull all the birds with this,” he comments.

Michael stares at him. He’s standing very close, leaning in to get a good look at the bruise. Suddenly Michael’s overly conscious of his breathing, where he’s looking, where he’s putting his hands, his gaze flitting to Gavin’s eyes, the side of his face, his lips.

“Why’s that then?”

“Makes you look tough, dunnit? Like you’ve been in a fight.”

“I _was_ in a fight.” 

“People will think it’s hot.”

Michael scoffs. “A black eye just means you were too slow to duck,” he says derisively. 

Gavin meets his eyes then, and Michael suddenly can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“Well I think it’s hot,” he says, quietly, and Michael feels heat rise to his face because he knows what he means; that it’s not the bruise but the fight itself. Maybe all the fights before it where he sat back watching Michael come out on top. He steps back, pulling away from Gavin’s touch, suddenly finding it hard to look at him.

“‘cause you weren’t on the fucking receiving end of it. If you don’t have a spare bed I’m sleeping on this couch.”

Gavin nods, too quickly, and mutters something about getting blankets before turning away. Michael stands alone in the middle of the room and looks down at his scraped, calloused knuckles and frowns at the way something almost nervous jitters up in his stomach.

**7.**

Two days later Geoff pulls him into his office and tells him he’s joining Ray on a job. 

It’s a long thing. Two weeks of setup before hitting some bigass pharmaceutical company. Michael’s not going in on the actual infiltration but it’s still a big job and he’s a bit surprised Geoff’s suddenly put him on it. It’ll be full-time for the next fortnight and he frowns when Geoff tells him.

“Who’s gonna watch Gavin?” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, half-surprising even himself.

Geoff looks startled, and then very pleased, for some unknown reason.

“Lindsay can keep an eye on him. He’ll be fine.”

Michael hesitates and isn’t sure why the thought of leaving Gav in someone else’s hands makes him suddenly feel so worried.

But _this is what you wanted_ , he thinks. To move up in the crew. So he nods, and Geoff brings Ray in then, and the other man grins at Michael and claps him on the shoulder and as they start going over the plan Michael falls into it, the excitement of getting to go out in the field as something other than Gavin’s personal security for the first time in months.

“That’s pretty cool,” is all Gavin says when Michael tells him what’s going on. Nothing else - his face very hard to read - he’s smiling but he’s pretty quiet and Michael can’t work out what he’s thinking.

“Lindsay will take care of you,” Michael says a bit awkwardly. “It’s only two weeks, then I’ll be back.”

“Cool,” Gavin repeats. And then after a moment he grins and reaches out and squeezes Michael’s arm. “I mean it, that’s exciting, boi. It’s what you wanted right? Have fun with it.”

Michael hesitates, then nods, but something deep in his gut is oddly unsettled still. It shouldn’t feel so much like he’s abandoning Gavin as he walks away, but he shrugs it off.

He has a job to do.

.

The next two weeks are gruelling; Michael’s a little rusty after so long doing nothing but taking care of Gavin. But he quickly gets back into the swing of it.

It’s fun. It’s exciting to be doing something so big, and Ray is a joy to work with, and Michael falls back into it. That exhilaration of late-night meetings and car chases and outrunning the police and gunfights in the moonlight down by the pier. This is what he wanted to be a part of all along. By the time the fortnight’s over he wishes he could be going along on the actual hit.

“Next time,” Ray assures him, and Michael feels a sudden little thrill at the thought that this is going to continue, that before long he’ll be coming along on all the Fake AH Crew’s proper heists, the ones he’s heard so much about.

Even if he doesn’t come along he still monitors the heist, sitting in with Geoff in his office listening to Ray and the rest of the team over the earpiece, his heart pounding like hell despite the fact that he’s sitting here safe in the base. There are a few hairy moments but they pull through and when they hear Ray tell them he’s clear - the whir of chopper blades in the background as they pull away from the lab building and lose the police - he and Geoff both let out loud whooping cries and leap to their feet, Geoff pulling him into a tight, elated hug.

.

The whole gang goes out to a bar that night. Geoff’s there, Jack too, and Ryan. All the others - Lindsay, Kdin, Matt and Jeremy who went along on the job too.

And Gavin.

Michael hasn’t seen him in a while; he’s been so busy and rarely even at the base, flitting between their client’s office and his own apartment where he crashed after working long hours and all-nighters. They’ve been texting but he hasn’t really had the chance to stop by and see Gavin in person. He didn’t quite realise how much he missed him until suddenly they’re together again; it was kind of weird being separated, he sees now, after spending almost every waking minute by Gavin’s side for so many weeks.

Gavin hugs Michael when he sees him. He looks fine, Lindsay took good care of him, it seems - there weren’t any incidents there - but they don’t have much time to talk before Michael gets pulled away by some of the others. They’re raising toasts to everyone who worked on the job, but Michael’s driving and he’s careful not to drink too much. When the celebratory bevs start dying down a bit he turns to locate Gavin again and finds him sitting by the bar watching him. He wanders over and Gavin smiles. 

“Hey,” Michael says. He notices as he gets closer that Gavin’s not drunk either, not even all that tipsy.

“Hey,” Gavin replies.

Michael slides onto the stool next to him and looks around. Their party is taking up most of this side of the bar but there are a bunch of other patrons side-eying them from the tables. This place is a regular haunt of theirs where most customers are in the business anyway.

“You gonna start a fight?” Michael asks, and Gavin barks out a startled laugh.

“Nah. Don’t wanna ruin your moment,” he says, and gives a fond sort of smile, leaning in until his shoulder is nudging against Michael’s. Michael presses back against him and there’s a companionable sort of silence for a bit.

“Was it fun?” Gavin asks eventually, and Michael stirs back to reality.

“It was very fun.” The thought makes him grin; he’s still running on the high of the job going off so well. It’s not even about the money, it’s the success of it, of knowing he helped contribute. And that next time he’ll probably be right in there with Ray, in the thick of the action.

“I’m glad,” Gavin says, but oddly quietly, and Michael turns to look at him.

“How’ve _you_ been?”

“You know,” Gavin replies. “Busy.”

He wasn’t needed for this job but Michael’s seen him working on others. Has spent time either watching him at his computer or minding him if he has to come in to hack something inside the field. It’d be fun, he thinks, for the two of them to work together properly on something, rather than him tagging along on the sidelines just to keep an eye on Gavin.

They catch up for a while, Michael telling him more about the job, the conversation eventually devolving into stupid things. TV shows and what terrible things Ryan’s been up to and crew gossip. But eventually they fall into a silence. Gavin is staring at Michael’s face and he’s suddenly overly conscious of it.

“So did you miss me?” he blurts out, the words striking him seemingly out of nowhere.

Gavin blinks a few times, his eyes widening for a second before he composes himself.

“Miss your ugly mug lurking over my shoulder every waking second? ‘course not.” His tone is joking, though, and Michael pulls a face at him. Gavin smiles briefly but it fades as he reaches a hand up, tracing his finger over Michael’s jaw.

Michael jumps a bit at the sudden contact. 

“What are you doing?” he asks. His heart is pounding.

“You’ve got a bruise,” Gavin says. 

“Oh. Yeah. Remember that car chase I was telling you about? Ray’s a fucking awful driver, man. I got hit in the face with the airbag when we slammed into that tree.”

Another ghost of a smile. Gavin’s fingers trail across his jaw again before his hand drops down to his shoulder. 

“I did miss you,” he says quietly.

A funny stillness settles between them. Gavin’s standing so close that Michael can practically feel the warmth radiating off him. Can smell his aftershave, faintly fragranced. Suddenly can’t drag his eyes away from Gavin’s, so close he can see the different colours in them, the bright reflection of the lights of the bar in his irises. He swallows, throat suddenly tight, a jittering excitement building in the pit of his stomach.

 _Something is going to happen_.

His eyes drop to Gavin’s lips and he hears Gavin’s breath hitch a bit. His fingers flex and tighten on Michael’s shoulder and he starts to lean in-

A giant cheer goes up from over where Geoff and the others are sitting, loud enough that both of them jump. Gavin springs back away from Michael almost guiltily, both of their heads snapping around. They’re all toasting Jeremy for something, loudly and rowdily enough that the mood has been totally broken.

Michael swallows again, his mouth suddenly very dry. Gavin’s avoiding looking at him. Michael knows well what was about to happen, but can’t quite get his head around it.

“I…” he trails off, swallowing. There’s a very awkward silence.

“I guess Geoff is gonna put me on more jobs after this,” he continues finally, and Gavin nods.

“I guess so,” he replies. And then, “Let’s go see what that racket’s about.”

They trail over to the others and get separated again by the crowds, and later that night Gavin gets a lift home from Ryan and Michael doesn’t see him again and some terrible little part of him is almost glad of it because there’s some tension between them, suddenly, that maybe has been there a while but almost came to a head just then, and suddenly he isn’t quite sure what’s going on. Isn’t quite sure what he wants.

**8.**

“You’ll be helping us with the heist next week,” Geoff says-

And the week after that, “I’m putting you on the Fleeca Job with Ryan,” and then-

“I’m meeting up with another crew, you’re coming along as backup-”

Before Michael knows it he’s getting involved in more and more projects. Spread out, often with a week or two in-between where he still does nothing but watch Gavin, but it’s obvious where it’s heading, that soon he’ll be fully initiated into the Fake AH Crew. It’s been months by now but somehow it still seems like everything’s moving so fast.

He’s excited. Of course he is.

But it is around this time that Gavin begins acting very strangely.

.

“Dude.” Michael’s actually properly annoyed for once. “You could have gotten yourself fucking killed just then-”

“Lucky you were there to stop that happening,” Gavin replies snippily. He’s not even drunk this time, just decided to push a fight with some guy for no reason - a guy who very clearly had a knife in his jacket and was drunk and violent enough to use it. Michael knows Gavin’s not stupid. There’s a line between fun and actual danger and usually he manages to walk it.

“Come on,” Gavin says then. “I don’t think we’ve been banned from the bar two blocks down yet-”

“No, you’re getting your ass home where you can’t get yourself fucking _stabbed_.”

.

Except the next night - and the next, and then two days after that - it keeps happening.

Gavin’s acting out more and more. Insisting on accompanying Ryan, or Matt, or Kdin out on pulls. Wandering off when he does go on them, Michael having to keep a close eye on him to make sure he’s not putting himself in danger.

And he starts barfight after barfight after barfight, every night, on bigger and bigger scales. It’s one thing for Michael to protect him from a couple of drunk idiots. It’s another entirely when Gavin starts pushing at genuinely dangerous people. Guys who they _know_ are in gangs or guys who are armed or groups big enough that it’s a struggle for Michael to handle them. He’s not the only one who’s going home bruised, either, often he can’t keep the situation well enough under control to prevent Gavin getting knocked around a few times too.

Gavin doesn’t seem to care, and Michael can’t quite understand it; Gavin’s been short with him, too, often dismissing him while he’s busy working.

It’s getting on his last nerve, has him snappy and irritable with the other man-

(And _hurt,_ too, under it all, because he doesn’t understand _why_ Gavin is suddenly pushing like this, why he doesn’t seem to care at all that Michael is getting genuinely annoyed with him-)

.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” Michael demands; they’re back at his flat and he’s picking broken glass out of his hands where he fell on a smashed bottle. Gavin’s holding an icepack to his own head where some other guy hit him. The sight of the bruise around his eye makes Michael even angrier; it makes him feel like a failure not to be able to prevent things like that from happening, but it’s fucking _impossible_ when Gavin won’t stop throwing himself into danger.

“Nothing,” Gavin replies, voice thick.

“Why are you being such an asshole lately? I told you not to start a fight tonight.”

Gavin just shrugs, something petulant in it. Michael opens his mouth to snap at him, but concern takes over and he forces himself to take a few deep breaths, calming himself down instead. He drops the last shard of glass into the plastic bag he’s been collecting them in and rises, walking over to sit next to Gavin.

“Gav, is something wrong? You’re acting weird as fuck lately.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Gavin repeats. “Just… bored.”

It sounds like an excuse but even when Michael pushes a few times more that’s all Gavin has to offer him - “It was funny,” - “I was drunk,” - “I’m just bored, Michael, it was funny, wasn’t it-” “ _No,_ Gavin, it really wasn’t-” -

They get nothing out of it and before long Michael’s nothing but frustrated again. He drives Gavin home in silence and sits outside the other’s apartment building for a few long moments, watching the lights turn on in the window of his flat when he gets upstairs. 

Since what happened in the bar a few weeks ago things have been awkward between he and Gavin. And Gavin’s newfound game of apparently trying as hard as possible to get himself fucking hospitalised if not worse really isn’t helping. Michael just can’t work it out. The other man’s always been reckless but never in such a deliberately self-destructive way.

 _We nearly kissed_.

He hasn’t brought it up since because he’s half afraid to dwell on it himself, what it could mean for him. He thinks maybe they should think about it a while first. He likes Gavin a hell of a lot but-

But-

_But what? What’s stopping you?_

It hardly matters now. If anything Gavin’s actions are screaming that he’s trying to push Michael _away_. That maybe he thinks what happened was a mistake. Something he’s trying to distance himself from.

Michael bites his lip, a sudden upset rising up.He misses their ease, their closeness, when they’d laugh off these debacles instead of limping home bruised and sore and sour and _alone_.

.

“You’re not going out drinking tonight,” Michael snaps the next day. Gavin’s been at work in the base the last few hours and wouldn’t let Michael sit and watch him, claiming a need for quiet and concentration.

He ignores Michael now, continuing down the street towards the closest bar - that they miraculously haven’t been banned from despite the amount of trouble he causes in there; Geoff knows the owner somehow Michael thinks.

But right now he’s sick of what’s going on between them and the last thing he wants is a repeat of what seems to happen every time Gavin goes out nowadays. He grabs Gavin’s wrist and yanks him furiously back.

“I said you’re not going out drinking tonight.”

Gavin spins around, looking annoyed but carefully blank below that.

“You’re my bodyguard,” he spits, “Not my babysitter.”

“Apparently I’m _both_ ,” Michael shoots back.

Gavin tugs at his arm and Michael tightens his grip, annoyed, but lets go the second Gavin starts to flinch. For a terrible frozen moment they stand staring at one another, caught in an awful stalemate.

Then Gavin turns on his heel and starts walking back inside the base.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Michael yells after him.

“I’ll get a ride home with Geoff,” Gavin calls back over his shoulder, voice tight and carefully controlled. “You can go home, Michael. You win, alright, I’m not going out drinking.”

Michael stares helplessly after him, more confused and angry than ever, hating this rift between them and hating even more that he has no fucking idea what brought it on.

**9.**

When Michael gets called into Geoff’s office the next day he’s half-certain he’s about to be told off or fired, that somehow Geoff’s found out or picked up on this terrible tension between he and Gavin.

But Geoff’s smiling at him, and there’s a bottle of champagne on his desk, and when he shuts the door to his office he comes up and claps both his hands on Michael’s shoulders.

“Welcome to the Fake AH Crew.”

“Wh-what?” Michael stutters, confused.

“No more guard duty for you. You’re in the crew full-time, the proper work. The big leagues now. You’ll be working with Ray on most things.” He pops the champagne cork and Michael ducks.

“I… I-”

“This is what you applied for, right?” Geoff’s already cheerily pouring them two glasses. “Just needed you to prove a bit of loyalty first. Thanks for that, by the way, I think it did Gav some good to have someone who wasn’t afraid to let him know when he’s being a piece of shit.”

Michael gapes for a few seconds. He knew this moment was coming but somehow still can’t quite believe it. After a moment he absently picks up the glass and starts to drink. Geoff’s still beaming at him.

“Thank you,” he says finally, when he’s gathered his wits a little.

Geoff just shrugs. “Don’t thank me. You earned it. You’ve more than proved yourself.”

“Who’s taking care of Gav now though? You can’t put Lindsay on that full time.”

He thought he’d feel excited about this but it’s tamped down a bit by everything that’s been going on with Gavin lately. The thought of no longer being there to watch over him - especially when his behaviour’s been so concerning the last few days - doesn’t rest easy with him.

“Ah, don’t worry about that,” Geoff says dismissively. “Dan’s been thinking about coming over here permanently for a while. I can’t think of a better person for the job.”

 _What about me_ , Michael thinks a bit sourly - unsure why he suddenly despises the mere mention of the other man. He’s never met Dan before but Gavin’s talked a hell of a lot about him and something ugly and resentful curls in his stomach for reasons he can’t explain.

He swallows it down. _What the fuck, dude. This is exactly what you wanted. Be fucking happy with it you idiot_.

Silently he drains the rest of the champagne. He hates that he has to force himself to smile. Hates even more that he doesn’t know why he can’t even muster up excitement.

**10.**

His last night as Gavin’s bodyguard.

Geoff broke the news to him. Michael wasn’t there when it happened. Gavin congratulated him but there was something dull and tight in it and now they’re out at a bar again, pretty much ignoring each other. Michael’s sitting at a table watching as Gavin goes to the bar to get them more drinks, just waiting for him to start a fight. One final mess for him to clean up.

He shouldn’t be thinking about how he’ll miss it. The fights and Gavin watching and laughing and occasionally throwing a pretzel and cooing over Michael’s victories the entire drive home afterwards.

Even now he can’t quite bring himself to feel nostalgic, though, not when the last few times haven’t been fun at all. He searches out Gavin again and then sits bolt upright when he notices what he’s doing.

This is a new trick.

This is… he doesn’t know what the fuck it is, but Gavin’s sitting at the bar leaning in talking to some guy. Michael can’t really see their faces from here but the guy’s getting grabby, one arm curled around Gavin’s waist, fingers already creeping up under his shirt to rub against his side. Gavin’s actively encouraging him, making no effort to pull away, one hand stroking at the guy’s arm.

A hot flash of confusion - rage - _hurt_ \- surges through Michael. He gets up and starts walking over, pace quickening when the two of them stand up and the guy starts to lead Gavin towards the door. He’s got an arm around his waist again but even as Michael watches his hand’s creeping lower to grab at Gavin’s ass. Gavin jumps a little, twisting his neck to look up at the guy, who just laughs, loud and crass.

Michael plants himself firmly in their path. 

“Gavin, what the fuck are you doing?” he demands.

Gavin stares at him. There’s something odd in his eyes, a weird sort of defiance. 

“What do you think I’m doing, Michael?” he asks, snippily.

Michael scowls at him.

The thing is, in the early days, he’d watch Gavin get smashed before going off to chat up a guy or a girl at the bar - a feat he was seemingly incapable of when not drunk as all hell. Once or twice he’d go home with someone; when he did Michael just had to quickly screen them and make sure they were clean. But after the first few weeks that suddenly stopped, and Gavin never made so much as an attempt to go hit on someone. The fact that he’s doing so now - and with the most obnoxiously large, uncouth man possible - seems deliberate in a way that’s getting on Michael’s last nerve.

“Who’s this?” the man demands, and Michael turns his irritated gaze up towards him. He’s a big guy, not unattractive but fairly coarse looking. Not Gavin’s type, or at least Michael didn’t think he was. He still hasn’t removed his hand from where it’s practically shoved in Gavin’s back pocket.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gavin says. His eyes never leave Michael’s and there’s something in them that Michael can’t quite make out. “He’s leaving.”

“Like fuck I’m leaving.” 

“Step aside, Curls.” There’s a sloppy, drunken note of warning in the man’s tone, but he laughs again even as he lifts his hands to Gavin’s waist, fingers curling around his hips - Gavin’s hands go up to cover his, trying to stop then going up under his shirt again, but the guy just leans in over his shoulder, leering at Michael. Something smug in his eyes. “I’ve got dibs on this ass.”

Dear God Michael wants to hit him, wants to just slug him one right in the nose and slap his hands from Gavin’s skin and-

“Gavin,” he says, voice very tight. “Can I have a word with you _please_.”

He grabs Gavin’s arm and pulls him to the side of the bar before he can protest. Gavin jerks out of his grasp angrily and Michael feels another sudden flash of hurt. He covers it with anger, leaning in to grip Gavin’s shoulders tightly, glaring at him.

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything,” Gavin replies, the fucking liar.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to get out of this,” Michael snaps. “But you know you don’t want to go home with him.”

Something flickers in Gavin’s eyes.

“What the hell does it matter to you?”

“ _Look_ at that guy.” Michael casts a furious glance over to the man, who’s standing awkwardly floundering where they left him, seeming confused as to where Gavin disappeared off to. He remembers the way he pawed at Gavin and the rage rises up again. “He’s a total fucking pig. He’s not your type at all. I don’t know why you-”

“ _Not my type_ ,” Gavin says, and laughs, loud and high and almost hysterical. “Jesus Christ, Michael. My sex life is none of your damn business-”

He breaks off when Michael grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him hard. 

“Yes it _is_ my ‘damn business’, Gavin. It’s my damn business to keep you out of trouble, and that guy looks like trouble. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s my fucking _job_ to keep you safe-”

“ _Not any more_!” The words tear out of Gavin like he has no control over them and Michael’s mouth snaps shut as he stares at him.

Gavin’s eyes are wide. There’s anger in them but under that a terrible, terrible hurt. It’s more open, more vulnerable than Michael has seen him in weeks and suddenly he can’t look away.

“Not any more,” Gavin repeats, more quietly, and it _hits_ Michael suddenly-

How this all started after the bar-

How immediately after their almost-kiss he started spending less and less time with Gavin as Geoff put him on jobs, how they never stopped and talked about what happened-

How fucking _insecure_ Gavin has always been, Jesus, he’s seen him in action and he’s never been able to work up the courage to so much as talk to someone he’s interested in without being drunk. How crushed rejection leaves him afterwards-

It’s fucking obvious now that he looks at it, but somehow he didn’t put the pieces together until now.

Gavin turns away, face flushing, looking embarrassed and angry, and Michael is just starting to reach out to him when the man Gavin was hitting on catches sight of them and strides over.

“What’s going on?” he demands, approaching.

Michael turns to him, irritated by the interruption.

“This is a private conversation,” he begins, but the man ignores him. He reaches out and shakes Gavin’s arm.

“Hey, are we going back to mine or what?”

Gavin blinks up at him like he’s forgotten who he is for a moment. Then he glances at Michael, and shakes his head.

“Sorry,” he says, voice stiff. “I don’t think I can. I actually have some stuff I have to deal with, I-”

“You little bitch.” The man’s face has clouded over. “What, have you traded me in for this guy now?” 

“What? No,” Gavin begins, but the man takes another step towards him and Michael moves in automatically. He gets between them and shoves at the man’s chest when he keeps moving forward, sending him stumbling back a pace.

“He said he doesn’t want to go with you,” Michael growls.

The man glares at him as he regains his balance. He moves forward swinging but Michael gets a fist in first and socks him hard across the jaw, sending him crumpling to the floor. There’s a murmur from the patrons around them as they all turn to look. Michael stands breathing harshly and barely resists the urge to kick the shit out of the guy as he’s lying on the ground.

He doesn’t know what it is. Anger, frustration, maybe some jealousy, but suddenly he feels like he’s going to explode.

He needs to get out of there.

Gavin’s watching him with wide eyes and Michael turns to him - gives him an intense look - some silent communication passing between them that they need to get out of here and talk, finish off their conversation somewhere more private. He turns and walks out and doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Gavin is following.

.

They get about four feet out of the bar before a bunch of large men step out in front of them.

“Um,” Gavin says, and Michael turns to him.

“I kind of forgot but that guy was actually there with a group,” Gavin says sheepishly, and Michael closes his eyes briefly for a minute.

“Of course he was,” he says with resignation, and slowly stretches his hands out in front of him and cracks his knuckles. He opens his eyes and sees that these guys aren’t just a bunch of rowdy civilians; they’ve got knives and one of them has a broken bottle hanging from his hand and there’s an easy aggression to the way they’re standing that suggests they’re used to violence. A gang of some sort. Fucking fantastic.

 _Okay_ , he thinks, and slowly steps in front of Gavin. His last night.

One last mess to clean up.

One last fight.

**11.**

This is where Michael Jones’ life has fucking brought him-

.

His knuckles split against the side of a man’s skull. Blood running sticky between his fingers. The whistle-rush of a glass bottle just past his ear, so close he can feel the wind of it as he ducks out of the way and it smashes instead into the head of the man he just hit-

.

Two big guys on him, one grabbing him from behind, arms locking tight around him pinning his own to his sides - squeezing - crushing the breath out of him - the other looming before him fist drawn back to punch-

He leaps into the air, leaning back and holding all his weight against the guy behind him as he brings his feet up and kicks the man square in the stomach. Feels the guy holding him fall back and stumbles free, already spinning around to kick him too, wrench the bottle from his hand and smash it over his head-

(He doesn’t have his gun, why the fuck didn’t he bring his gun-)

.

There are too many.

They’re bearing down on him and one of them comes up too fast and the next thing he knows there’s a searing, blinding pain in his left shoulder. He lets out a yell, falling back - it hurts _so fucking bad_ ; he twists his head to see the handle of a knife sticking out of his arm, the blade completely buried in his flesh-

Another of them kicks his feet out from under him and he hits the hard concrete ground with a crash, the wind knocked out of him, the impact jostling his shoulder and making him cry out again.

All he can feel is the pain and all he can see is the glimmer of another blade in the light of the street-lamps as one of the other guys steps up over him, brandishing a knife-

.

Gavin suddenly, launching himself between them - tackling the guy with the knife. They fall back out of Michael’s line of sight and he hears a thud, yells, Gavin’s voice shout in pain-

His head is swimming with how much his arm hurts but he shoves it away and forces himself to stumble to his feet.

He lurches forward. Sees Gavin pinned down, struggling under the bulky weight of one of the men. Without even thinking about it he brings his fists up and pounds them down on the back of the man’s neck. He falls sideways and Michael rolls him aside, reaching out to yank Gavin to his feet.

The other men are closing in around them and Michael makes the tactical decision to “ _Run like fuck, Gavin, just go, go, go_ -!”

.

This is where Michael Jones’ life has fucking brought him-

_._

His shoulder throbbing with every step, shoes slapping against the tarmac, lungs burning, heart slamming too hard in his chest-

.

He’s holding Gavin’s wrist at first, dragging him along, but at some point he lets go and they catch each other’s hands instead. Michael’s are sticky and slippery with blood but his fingers slide easily between Gavin’s and they keep running, keep running, can still hear the guys after them and the eventual crack of a gunshot that makes Michael jump and start, panic spiking in his chest-

.

This is where Michael Jones’ life has fucking brought him. 

Leaning against the wall in a dark dank alley stinking of refuse, blood running down his arm, his shoulder on fucking _fire_ with pain. Gavin’s body is a warm weight against his side, his breath huffing in short sharp gasps against Michael’s palm where his hand is clamped tight over his mouth, stopping him from making a sound. He gives a small whimper and Michael looks down and lets up a bit so he can breathe properly, their eyes meeting for a moment.

Fear. Anger. But that vulnerability under it all because this situation is _shit_ but they can’t forget all the reasons they got themselves here. 

For a moment Michael’s annoyance flares up again. It is really not fucking fun being stabbed and this would all have been totally avoidable if Gavin just talked about his feelings like a normal person. But before he can dwell on it there’s a thud from somewhere in the dark streets nearby, the distant clamour of raised voices, and he peeks around the edge of the alleyway and jumps when a car speeds past.

“Michael, are they out there-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael hisses, and Gavin falls silent again. Michael listens hard, but he can’t see the men and he can’t hear them either and his apartment is only two blocks away - they can make it if they’re quick and careful.

He checks the street again and then turns and ushers Gavin out in front of him, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the road.

“Go, go, go-!”

**12.**

So the only part less fun than a knife going into your body is having to take the damn thing _out_.

Michael clenches his jaw but a groan slips out between his gritted teeth anyway as Gavin slowly starts to pull. His fingers clutch at the edge of the table he’s leaning against, digging his nails into the wood until it hurts. 

The knife comes free with a jerk and Michael shudders, unable to stop his whimper. Gavin bites his lip, leaning in to press a cloth to the wound; Michael quickly reaches up to hold it against his shoulder himself. The blood is flowing steadily down his bare chest now and it’s hell to keep applying pressure but he’s done this before and to much worse injuries. _Take it. Fucking take it, you’re fine_.

Gavin’s face is drawn and tight. There’s blood dried down his lips and over his chin; he split a lip at some point it seems, probably after tackling the guy who was about to stab Michael. There are bruises blooming on his throat where the guy he knocked over got the better of him and dug his fingers in, two of them so dark Michael can practically see thumbprints.

“You need something for that?” he asks - the first words either of them have spoken since he got in.

Gavin shakes his head.

“No,” he replies, but his voice comes out a rasp and he looks briefly surprised by it before he clears his throat a few times and shakes his head.

“No,” he repeats, more firmly.

Michael gives him a slightly disbelieving look, but he quickly gets distracted by the blood that’s starting to run from his shoulder all the way down to his stomach. Gavin passes him a washcloth and by the time Michael’s finished cleaning himself up - slowly with one hand - the other man is standing in front of him again holding out a bottle of liquor. He’s washed the blood off his face and looks nothing but tired now.

Michael takes it gratefully and swigs straight from the neck, hissing through his teeth as Gavin takes over at his shoulder again, pulling the cloth away to start putting a bandage on instead.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin says, the minute Michael’s got the bottle up again. It’s so quiet that Michael barely hears it but he turns immediately.

“Gav-”

“I’ve been an asshole recently, I know,” Gavin barrels on, ignoring him. “That shit with the guy back there, I… I don’t even know what I was doing. You’re right, I didn’t want to go home with him, I was just. Trying to make you jealous or - or just trying to get back at you, I don’t know, it was petty and stupid and-”

“Gav,” Michael tries again, but Gavin shushes him.

“No, look, let me explain. That night at the bar after the MedEx job, we…” he trails off, flicking his eyes nervously up to Michael’s. Must see in his face that he knows what he’s talking about. That he doesn’t have to say it. “Anyway, but we _didn’t_ and I just got scared, I guess, that I’d misjudged it all and that you… you didn’t like me. And you know how I get, it _hurt_ , and then it seemed like you were trying as hard as possible to get out of this job and start properly working for Geoff and I thought well fuck, I bollocksed it now making a move on you, or maybe you never liked me in the first place and… it’s stupid, I don’t know. I guess I thought maybe by acting out so much I could show you I still needed you, but that didn’t bloody work, did it. You’re leaving now anyway-”

“Okay, shut the fuck up,” Michael snaps, and Gavin flinches, staring up at him with wide eyes. Michael takes a step towards him, then another on impulse, and suddenly they’re standing too close, Gavin backed up against the dining room table, Michael right up in his face. 

“I am not leaving you,” Michael says, quietly, firmly. Gavin’s staring at him, eyes huge, and Michael holds his gaze steadily.

“I’m not leaving,” he repeats. “Jesus, Gavin, that was never what this was about. I didn’t… after what happened at the bar I didn’t bring it up because _you_ didn’t. Guess we were both fucking idiots. I just thought maybe we both weren’t sure what we wanted, that maybe some space would help. Except I suppose it did the fucking opposite. But I was never avoiding you. Geoff’s wanted all along to eventually move me up in the crew. And I guess he couldn’t think of any better way for someone to prove their worth than by seeing how they acted around the stupid kid who he cares way too damn much about.”

Gavin’s mouth opens and shuts a few times, lost for words.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Michael continues. “Maybe I won’t be your bodyguard anymore but dude, we’ll be _working together now_ , how fucking exciting is that? And if we go out for bevs and some asshole starts hitting on you or you decide it’s a good idea to start a fight - of course I’m still gonna protect you. Except now it’s Dan who’ll get the joy of tackling you to the floor constantly.”

“So you…” Gavin trails off, still unsure, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Looks like there was a big fucking error in communication over here. No, I haven’t been avoiding you. No I’m not trying to get away from you as fast as possible. God. You’re an idiot,” he says, and grins then, all that old fondness rushing back in because _fuck_ they’re both stupid, they’re both fucking _clueless_ and maybe he himself has been taking too long to figure out just what it is he wants.

He knows now.

He knew the second he saw Gavin leaving the bar with that man. He knew the moment they started pulling apart and it felt like something was terribly wrong, like something vital had fallen out of place-

Maybe he’s known for a lot longer than he’s willing to admit.

Gavin is still staring at him, lips parted, breathing a bit too fast. Michael reaches up and gently rubs some dried blood from his chin - Gavin almost involuntarily presses into the touch even as Michael’s fingers trail down to the side of his neck. He can feel Gavin’s pulse pounding under his skin. Doesn’t draw his eyes from his even as he leans in slowly and slots their lips together.

Gavin’s eyes slip shut and he presses back against Michael almost frantically, only to pull back with a little wince as his puts too much pressure on his split lip. There’s an awkward pause before they both laugh and try again - meeting each other halfway this time.

The kiss is soft and slow and for once in their lives they’re taking their time, figuring things out. They way they fit together, Michael’s hands dropping gently to Gavin’s waist, settling comfortably on his hips - Gavin’s own arms coming up behind him, his fingers cool against the too-warm bare skin of Michael’s back.

When they break apart they’re both breathing heavily. Gavin doesn’t pull out of Michael’s grasp, just looks down at him with something still slightly hesitant in his eyes, because apparently a God damn kiss _still_ isn’t enough evidence for him that yes, yes, Michael is very fucking interested. But there’s something endearing in it, because he knows Gavin only gets like this when he _really_ cares about how something is going to work out, a far cry from his usual debonair attitude towards most other things. And he grins, stupidly, another sudden rush of affection surging through him.

This is where Michael Jones’ life has brought him. A black eye and a stab wound in his shoulder and his whole body aching from one too many fights-

And the job he’s wanted all along, the life of thrills and adventure surrounded by people he really, really fucking likes-

Including this idiot in his arms, an idiot who wants him just as much as Michael wants him back, and he reaches up to cup Gavin’s cheek and leans in to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for the prompt! <3
> 
> Most of this was written in the dead hours of the morning oop, apologies for any errors

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This modern love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3980560) by [ellievolia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/pseuds/ellievolia)




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